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After the massacre she had witnessed, Morgana knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. She sent Gwen home a candlemark ago and since the last, ‘Yes, I’m sure I will be fine, Guinevere. Go get some sleep,’ she's been sat in a chair she dragged to her window. A light woolen blanket is draped loosely over her shoulders. Her eyes look out into the distance, unseeing and wandering.
She stays in her seat for quite a few hours, until the last few candles and fires have gone out and only one brazier still glows dimly in the night. Her eyes land on it for a moment, no guards for the time being - Probably slacking already - and she wonders how those few who were able to escape are doing.
It is more coincidence than anything else, for if she hadn't gotten out of her seat at that very moment, she would have missed the shadowy figure that walked briskly at the edges of the courtyard, seemingly coming from the direction of the dungeon. Morgana isn’t sure why, but she feels a sudden compulsion to find out who it is. Her keen eyes follow the shadow's path. The moment it vanishes, she turns from her window and grabs a dagger, hiding it in her sleeve before hurrying out of her room.
‘If I'm guessing their direction correctly, the person is heading towards the east tower .’
She uses a few shortcuts and the servants' passages to get there as fast as she can. Morgana stays in the shadows every opportunity she has, then she watches the figure standing close to the battlements there. Something about that person’s frame catches her interest, nudging her brain to tell her who it is.
Yet she can't be certain who it is, because the figure, as slim as they are, could be either male or female, and the angle from where she is looking is not ideal with the clouded night.
The figure just stands there for a bit, doing seemingly nothing but staring into the distance before they bow their head and their shoulders sag.
Soon after, a soft sound comes from where the person stands. For a moment, Morgana is confused until it hits her like an ambush that this person is crying.
A low murmur caught by the slight breeze reaches her ears, and the confusion ebbs away to be replaced by shock and anger.
“Why did I listen to them? I should have told her… Gods, I’m sorry…”
‘That voice… that’s?!’ In her shock she gasps loudly, alerting Merlin to her presence.
Morgana barely manages to dodge a spell which makes the stone wall behind her splinter. The cracking sound rings out in the otherwise silent night.
Wide eyes meet wide eyes, and both black haired magic users can’t keep in their shock.
“Merlin?”
“Mo-Morgana…” he says breathlessly. Even from this distance Morgana can see his eyes glow gold, the telltale sign of magic.
“You- You lied to me!” she spits, taking a slow step forward while feeling her own power rising, a deadly cocktail of anger, hurt and fear. It’s the same mix of feelings that makes her not stop her advance and not take in the desperation on the man’s face, the man she used to call a friend.
“If you’d told me! If you’d trusted me! They… the Druids! Merlin!”
“I never wanted that. Never wanted them to-” a choked off sob interrupts him, and Morgana, for once, can’t do anything but keep listening. Otherwise she might lash out, more than she already wants to, and hurt the one she thought she could trust fully.
His magic was still simmering, still illuminating the usually oh so blue eyes, and glittering tear streaks adorned his cheeks. Merlin looks wrecked and yet beautiful, and for the first time Morgana feels like she truly sees Merlin for who he is.
“I-I,” he tries to explain, floundering and hiccupping but marching on, “I tried. I wanted to. But they said no. Everyone who knew warned me and I couldn’t. This is all- I never wanted this, just like you. I’m so sorry, Morgana. The druids should never have- and it’s all my fault.”
She takes another step, not sure if she wants to lash out or to offer comfort, not anymore. Her voice is distant, cold and she surprises herself with it when she says, “If you had told me, I might never have gone. I might have taken you with me, or we might have had a higher chance!”
“I- I know. I wish I could change it. By the gods… Everything I do seems to fail, no matter how much I try to protect my kin and still obey my destiny...I just…”
“Maybe you should stop obeying something like destiny and face the world on your own!”
Above the tear streaks, the golden glow finally subsides, leaving only the piercing blue she has come to adore over the time Merlin has been her friend. “I’m sorry…” he repeats in a broken whisper, which despite everything pulls at Morgana’s heart.
Still, her anger hasn’t gone fully, and she keeps firm. “Why didn't you trust me?”
Only after she asks does she realise that this is the root of her anger. Because if Merlin had trusted her with his secret, she wouldn’t have carelessly gone to the druid camp and tried to stay there. She was certain of that, if nothing else anymore.
“They told me not to.”
“Who?”
“...”
“Merlin”
“Kilgharrah… he’s a dragon, and he told me of the prophecy and of my destiny and-”
“A dragon?” The surprise finally takes away the last of her anger for the moment, curiosity following on its heels.
“Yes… I… I want to do better, Morgana. I want us to be friends and I want to learn magic with you and-” his voice slows, his eyes downcast and Morgana realizes that before her stands a young man, younger than her, who has broken one too many times already and is just trying to survive in this cruel world all on his own with ill advice.
She steps forward, closing in, and hesitantly lays a hand on his shoulder. “We… can try. But no more secrets, no more doing things alone. You’re my kin and I am yours, and I might be angry for a long time to come, but I want to not be alone, not in a place like this.”
She wonders if she should say the rest, but decides to do so. “I think you can atone for what you did, still. And I wish to be there to see you find some kind of peace.”
Blue eyes, already wide with wonder and disbelief, stare at her for a moment longer before he slowly opens his arms for Morgana to step into his embrace. Only now does she realise that she too is crying.
Not all is well and good between them still, but they are kin and so she hopes one day it will be again. For that to happen, she dares to be the brave one. She dares to allow herself to heal, crying in Merlin’s arms, while he cries as well.
Morgana knows this will be a long journey, for them both, but at least they don’t have to walk it alone.